re a fine fellow,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'and I admire your goodness
of heart. No thanks. Remember--eleven o'clock.'

'There is no fear of my forgetting it, sir,' replied Job Trotter. With
these words he left the room, followed by Sam.

'I say,' said the latter, 'not a bad notion that 'ere crying. I'd cry
like a rain-water spout in a shower on such good terms. How do you do
it?'

'It comes from the heart, Mr. Walker,' replied Job solemnly.
'Good-morning, sir.'

'You're a soft customer, you are; we've got it all out o' you, anyhow,'
thought Mr. Weller, as Job walked away.

We cannot state the precise nature of the thoughts which passed through
Mr. Trotter's mind, because we don't know what they were.

The day wore on, evening came, and at a little before ten o'clock Sam
Weller reported that Mr. Jingle and Job had gone out together, that
their luggage was packed up, and that they had ordered a chaise. The
plot was evidently in execution, as Mr. Trotter had foretold.

Half-past ten o'clock arrived, and it was time for Mr. Pickwick to issue
forth on his delicate errand. Resisting Sam's tender of his greatcoat,
in order that he might have no encumbrance in scaling the wall, he set
forth, followed by his attendant.

There was a bright moon, but it was behind the clouds. It was a fine dry
night, but it was most uncommonly dark. Paths, hedges, fields, houses,
and trees, were enveloped in one deep shade. The atmosphere was hot
and sultry, the summer lightning quivered faintly on the verge of the
horizon, and was the only sight that varied the dull gloom in which
everything was wrapped--sound there was none, except the distant barking
of some restless house-dog.

They found the house, read the brass plate, walked round the wall, and
stopped at that portion of it which divided them from the bottom of the
garden.

'You will return to the inn, Sam, when you have assisted me over,' said
Mr. Pickwick.

'Wery well, Sir.'

'And you will sit up, till I return.'

'Cert'nly, Sir.'

'Take hold of my leg; and, when I say "Over," raise me gently.'

'All right, sir.'

Having settled these preliminaries, Mr. Pickwick grasped the top of the
wall, and gave the word 'Over,' which was literally obeyed. Whether his
body partook in some degree of the elasticity of his mind, or whether
Mr. Weller's notions of a gentle push were of a somewhat rougher
description than Mr. Pickwick's, the immediate effect of his assistance
was to jerk